


Multi-fandom Advent Calendar 2014

by TheBleedingVicar



Series: Advent Calendars [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure, House M.D., Merlin (TV), NCIS, Original Work, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series, Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: Advent Calendar, Bickering, Christmas, Christmas Sweaters, Decorating, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Love Confessions, M/M, OCs - Freeform, OW, Outing, PWP, Reunions, Snow, parenting, sex scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBleedingVicar/pseuds/TheBleedingVicar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble, mostly fluff, for each day of December until Christmas</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1st: Deck The Halls

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy, happy one to start you off. Fandom's Star Trek and there's no ships (apart from the Enterprise. Yeah. See what I did there. I'm hilarious.). The bridge crew decides to prank Spock by all singing Deck The Halls.

The bridge was quiet, everyone seated at their stations and Bones standing behind Jim’s left shoulder. They were exploring an uncharted and so far uninhabited section of space and had encountered no trouble for weeks. Almost the entirety of the crew was either excited about or dreading Christmas Day, or both in equal measure. The dread quarter was mainly made up of those who did not celebrate it, and were aware of the enthusiasm with which not just the younger ensigns, but also the captain, celebrated said holiday. Spock was the unofficial mascot of it.

Back to the bridge, and Jim started humming ‘Deck the Halls’ under his breath. Soon Chekov was bouncing slightly in his seat and humming along. Spock dismissed this as simply ‘Christmas spirit’ and young enthusiasm, respectively. Sulu was next to join in, also tapping the beat out on the helm. Scotty depressed multiple buttons on his panel, and the strains of piano, guitar and brass backing drifted from it. By this point, the first officer was rather suspicious, naturally, but resolutely stayed staring into his viewer. Jim’s eyes slid sideways to him, a grin on his face. He gestured to Uhura, who started singing in her lilting voice. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la la.”

The rest of the bridge crew then started singing with her. The last straw was when McCoy joined in, and Spock spun around in his chair, crossing his arms and emitting a glare that took in the entire bridge and all its occupants. It carried on for another verse, an impressive amount of time, before it dissolved into uncontrolled giggling on the parts of Jim and Chekov, and wide grins on the others. Eventually this too subsided, and they all happily turned back to their respective stations to continue scanning the surrounds.


	2. December 2nd: Ianto's Apartment, or The Glittery Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes it into his head to decorate Ianto's apartment. Fandom's Torchwood, and the ship's Janto.

Ianto blinked awake and stretched blearily. A minute later, he rolled over and patted the bed beside him, fully opening his eyes when he realised that Jack, who had spent last night at his apartment, was not there. He wrapped the warm comforter around him and padded sleepily out.

“Jack. What the fuck?”

“I decorated for you!” Jack explained, standing next to a Christmas tree with a look on his face like a father whose child had just won the Nobel Prize.

Ianto nodded slowly. “I can see that,” he said, slowly taking in the tinsel and ornaments draped across the entirety of his living and dining rooms, not to mention his kitchen. He started slowly towards the kitchen, deciding that he really needed coffee to deal with this. Once the coffee machine was happily gurgling away, he turned around again, more prepared to face the glittery horror that was currently his apartment. Jack had sat down on the couch while he waited for Ianto to wake up fully, but even the - admittedly aesthetically pleasing – sight of him in the middle of it failed to make it entirely palatable. He turned around again as his coffee machine produced an almost perfect cup of bitter dark liquid at the exact same time as his milk finished frothing. He walked over to sit next to Jack, cradling the chipped mug between his hands, the comforter now draped across his shoulders. When the mug was almost half-empty, he turned to face Jack. “You don’t think you might have gone slightly overboard?” he asked him, a foil holly leaf dropping into his coffee from a piece of tinsel Blu-Tacked to the ceiling.

Jack looked slowly around the room. “Maybe slightly,” he grimaced.

Ianto placed his mug on the coffee table, stood up, and extended a hand towards Jack. “We’re putting some of this away.”


	3. December 3rd: Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's NCIS, and the ship's Tibbs. Quite aggressively Tibbs. So if you don't ship it you might not want to read it. I'm looking at you Katie.

Tony paused at the top of the basement stairs, wondering now whether he really wanted to go through with this after all. After a moment, the decision was taken away from him by Gibbs asking, “You coming down, Dinozzo?” without looking up from the block of wood he was carving. He winced slightly and made his way down into the warmth and woodchips with a, “Yes, boss.” He sat down across the table from him, and Gibbs poured him a glass of Scotch with one hand, still not looking at him. Which was helpful, actually. It was entirely possible he would just melt into a puddle of nervousness and anticipation if met with that blue-eyed stare.

“Did you have a reason for coming over, or were you just planning to sit there and look pretty?”

Tony jolted out of his musings. “Uh, yes boss.”

“Gibbs. I’m not your boss at the moment.”

“Yes, boss,” Tony joked, trying and failing to loosen the constriction in his chest. Gibbs looked at him for the first time, an unamused push into whatever he was trying to say. He swallowed. “Well, Gibbs,” he started. “I guess the first thing would be: you know how I’m attracted to guys as well as girls, right?”

He stopped working and pushed the things in between them aside. “Yeah, Tony, you’re bi, I know.”

“Well, I just couldn’t let all the attractive guys out there pass me by. Except I am. The attractive girls too. I’ve hit a dry spell. Except it’s not really a dry spell, because that implies lack of resources, and there’s still plenty of them out there, it’s more of an unwillingness to partake, really, and Ziva and McGee don’t know why, but I do, or at least I did once I admitted it to myself, and I think Abby might know as well, but then she really knows everything, she’s like you, except she’s subtler about it – umph.” Tony stopped talking, half in surprise and half because it was impossible to speak with Gibbs having seized his shirtfront and now kissing the hell out of him. Or into him. You know. He brought his arms up to grasp the older man’s biceps and relaxed into it. _God_ , the man could kiss. Gibbs surfaced for air what felt like roughly three hours later, but was probably only about a minute.

“That what you were trying to tell me, Dinozzo?” he asked gruffly.

“Yeah, yeah, that was about the gist of it,” Tony replied breathlessly.

 


	4. December 4th: Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fandom's House, the ship's Hilson, and it's told from the POV of an OC, Dr. Hill.

The sight of Dr. House moving down the corridors of PPTH at his customary fast limp was a common sight. The sight of Dr. Wilson beside him was fairly usual. Their odd friendship was well known throughout the hospital, almost as well known as the fact that his Diagnostics counterpart was to be avoided if at all possible. The sight of them standing so close together that the backs of their hands brushed against each other was less common, considering most of the time they seemed to be arguing, but certainly wasn’t rare. The sight of them _kissing_ in the corridors, though… that was a new one. Dr. Hill paused on her way to Neurology to observe the sight. It wouldn’t do to let either of them catch her looking – Dr. House because he’d snap at her, and she was too tired to deal with that at the moment, and Dr. Wilson because he’d start blushing, and frankly that was just embarrassing for everyone involved – but it didn’t seem that there was any risk of that at the moment. They seemed quite wrapped up in each other. They were also blocking the corridor.

She cleared her throat, attempting to catch their attention. When this failed, she sighed loudly. When they _still_ didn’t move, she thought for a minute, and then walked up to them and poked the older man in the side. “Hey, there are people trying to use these corridors for their intended purpose,” she said, deciding to treat it as she would anyone canoodling in the hallway. As if it weren’t two department heads, and two of the most respected doctors in PPTH, not to mention most of the American medical community. They finally broke apart, Dr. Wilson looking flustered and Dr. House coolly sarcastic, which was quite a feat after that show. Dr. Wilson nodded at her, clearly determined to treat this as if it were just any normal distraction. “Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes and carried on down the hallway.


	5. December 5th: The Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were just going to have Christmas dinner, but the weather had other plans. The fandom's Cabin Pressure, and there's references to Carolyn/Herc and Martin/Theresa, but no explicit ships.

Martin rushed in the door, almost colliding with Arthur, who was standing just behind it. “Hi Skip! You’re the last one, everyone else is here, and I was waiting for you!”

“I know, Arthur, I’m sorry, I got delayed.”

“No, it’s alright, come in,” he said, dancing down the hallway to the dining room. “They’re all in here.”

Douglas looked up from the cards he was staring at intently. “Ah, our gallant captain has at last emerged triumphant, having fought his way through the vicious blizzard. Where’s Theresa? I thought you were bringing her to re-meet the family.”

Martin sighed and took a seat in between Douglas and Arthur. “She was going to, but she had to attend a last-minute diplomatic function. And she has already met you. Well, not you, Herc.”

“Shame,” Herc pronounced. “I would have liked to meet her.”

“She said to say she’s sorry, and hello.”

“Shall we resume playing?”

Martin looked curiously at the table. “What _are_ you playing?”

“The incredibly complex and hard-to-grasp game that is Spoons,” Douglas replied drily.

“It’s too fast!” Arthur complained.

“He keeps dropping his cards on the floor,” Caroline explained, coming in and sitting down next to him. “Hello, Martin. Have any of you looked outside lately, or aren’t you observant enough to notice that we appear to have been snowed in?”

Arthur immediately jumped up and ran to the window. “We are! We’re snowed in! I’ve always wanted to be snowed in!”

“Oh god, really?” Douglas groaned. “ _How_ snowed in?”

“Uh, quite snowed in.” Martin said from the other window. “How did that happen so fast? It’s 7 o’clock, that’s not going to melt until morning.”

“God, it’s Xhinzou all over again,” Caroline said “Just without Arthur’s snowman.”

“Can I make a snowman?”

 

_Three hours later…_

“I will kill you. I will murder you with absolutely no remorse.”

“Not if I kill you first.”

“This may just be a lover’s spat, but unless you both pay up for landing on Mayfair, neither of you are going to be living long enough to kill anyone.”

 

 

 


	6. December 6th: Ugly Christmas Sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Star Trek, and the ship's Spirk. Jim tries to get Spock to wear a Christmas sweater. He puts up a good fight, but he inevitably acquiesces.

Spock glared at Jim. “No.”

“Oh, come on! You’ll look adorable.”

“Oddly enough, Jim, my main aim in life is not to ‘look adorable’.”

He put on puppy-dog eyes. “For me?”

Spock narrowed his eyes. “No, Jim. I am not wearing a… Christmas sweater. I do not even celebrate Christmas.”

“You kinda do.”

“Only because you make me. But you are not going to make me wear that atrocity.”

“It’ll keep you warm. I know you get cold around now, when the temperature gets lowered. You’re cold right now.”

“There are more practical ways to stay warm. Stop using the bond to assist in your persuasion.”

Jim put a hand to his chest and adopted an expression of shocked innocence. “Who, me? You _look_ cold.”

“You are aware that I can tell when you probe the bond.” It wasn’t a question.

Jim shrugged. “Okay, so maybe me. But you’d just look so cute. I won’t even tell Bones.”

“Dr. McCoy would find out whether you told him or not. However, that is not why I refuse to wear it.”

“Well, why then?”

“I refuse to sacrifice my dignity for the sake of your amusement.”

“I’ve seen you in less dignified positions than wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.”

“That is true. However, that is no reason to put myself into another undignified position.”

“I’m sure it is, really. Anyway, this isn’t actually particularly undignified.”

“I oppose that opinion.”

Jim flashed the puppy dog eyes again. “Please?”

“No.”

“If you wear it for today, you can put the temperature up in our quarters for the next three days. That’s a fair exchange.”

Spock looked suspicious. “A week.”

“Okay, fine. But I’m allowed to take a picture then.”

Spock sighed. “Very well.”

Jim grinned and handed it to him. He grudgingly put it on.

“You’re beautiful.”

 

 


	7. December 7th: Coffee and Grouching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's House and the ship's Hilson. Neither of them celebrate Christmas, House not being exactly a celebratory type, and Wilson being Jewish, so Christmas season's a bit of a torture. Sorry if their speech patterns go funny around the end, I was watching NCIS at the time.

Wilson walked out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. “House,” he yawned. “Why are you up?”

House looked over his shoulder from his position on the couch. “Why do you think?” he snapped. “I couldn’t sleep.” He sighed. “It’s going to rain,” he explained.

Wilson hummed and made his way to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

House stood up and limped over to lean on the bench. “Yes.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Around four hours.”

Wilson glanced at the clock. “It’s 6:30!”

“There’s no need to sound so appalled. You do it too.”

“Generally not from 2:30. I tend to do it from the more reasonable 5:30.”

“You have different motivations.”

“I’d hardly call them motivations. More like… incentive. Provocation? Coffee.”

House raised an eyebrow “Coffee is the reason we wake up too early. It probably doesn’t help…”

Wilson shook his head. “No, here’s your coffee. But you’re right.”

“Veering off the topic entirely, because I don’t want to discuss quitting coffee, and this is where this is heading, did _you_ remember it’s Christmas Day?”

Wilson groaned. “No. There’s going to be carols playing at work, isn’t there?”

“And tinsel.”

“And people wearing Santa hats.”

“And banners.”

“At least most of the kids will be happy.”

“Of course that’s your prime concern. Never mind the fact that I’m going to be miserable. And you’re going to be bordering on miserable. And the idiots are going to be,” he shuddered dramatically. “happy.”

“I assume you’re referring to your team. Who aren’t actually idiots, or you wouldn’t abide working with them. They deserve to be happy. They probably won’t be anyway, none of them are particularly cheery.”

“True. Well, that’s a positive, at least.”

Wilson laughed. “We all know you’re not as acerbic as you pretend to be. Give it up.”

House smiled. “Well. You should go to work. I’ll be in later.”

“Yeah, okay.” He put his coffee down and walked around the bench to kiss House. “See you later.”

 


	8. December 8th: Trust Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is an original work, with characters from a story I'm writing. To clarify relationships: At this point, Tony is someone who Carlotta, and thus Andrew, are being forced to work with, and Andrew's a friend of Carlotta's. Oh, and Andrew has a tendency to use Old English words.

Carlotta slipped out of her bonds and climbed quickly up the damp wall. She clambered out and grinned at them from the top. “I’ll be back. Play nice, kids.”

Andrew scrambled up, still attached to the wall by a leg iron. “You’re not telling me you’re leaving me down _here_ with this – this blathering _jobbernowl_!”

Tony crossed his arms. “I reckon she is.” Then the entirety of Andrew’s sentence sank in. “ _What_ did you call me?”

Andrew slumped back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position. “A blathering jobbernowl,” he repeated absentmindedly.

“What?”

He turned his full attention to Tony. “Jobbernowl. It’s an Old English word.”

“Never would’ve guessed.”

“Or Old French. It means ‘person of _moronic tendencies_ ’.”

“Hey!”

Andrew looked at him doubtfully.

“Just because I can’t transform into someone not even my closest friends would recognise with the help of a hat, like you can, or kill a person fifty different ways with a piece of straw, like Carlotta, doesn’t mean I’m a… jobbernaut.”

“Nowl.”

“Hmm?”

“Jobbernowl. I think that _may_ be the most words I’ve ever heard you say at one time.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, apparently having exhausted his supply.

There was an awkward pause.

“I didn’t say you were a moron. I said you had moronic _tendencies_. We _all_ have moronic tendencies.”

“What, even you?” Tony asked sarcastically.

“Even me. I _know_ it’s hard to believe…”

Tony snorted. “On the contrary, I find it astonishingly easy to believe.”

“ _Well_. Wait, was that a quote?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

Carlotta’s head popped over the edge of the dark space they were imprisoned in and waved a key. She tossed it down to them. “Sorry, Andrew, I couldn’t find your cane.”

Andrew placed the key in Tony’s outstretched hand, detached the manacle, and stood up, balancing his weight on his left leg. He grinned mischievously. “My _dear_ Tony here will just have to boost me up. Let’s call it... a trust fall.”


	9. December 9th: I Have Loved The Stars Too Fondly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Star Trek, ship's Spirk. I apologise if the the rhythm's off, I'm feeling a bit odd, and everything I'm reading is coming out unrhythmically, even things that aren't.

Spock scanned the creatures surrounding him and Jim, taking in their positions, physicality, and the blades they were holding in a distinctly threatening manner. The world went into slow motion as they glanced at each other and drew their phasers, locked on stun. The creatures correctly perceived the movement as a threat. They moved closer. Spock and Jim both shot, each taking out one of the twelve. One of the creatures slashed at Spock, who went in low to take them out. He could hear Jim wrestling with another at his back. He took out another three in a wide shot, leaving six. He heard two hitting the ground behind him, and knocked another down himself through sheer force. The remaining three circled them hesitantly. One suddenly threw his knife, and Jim fell. Spock took all three out in a whirlwind of movement and dropped to his knees beside his bondmate. “Jim. Jim, are you alright?”

Jim smiled sadly up at. “No. And you know that. This,” he raised a hand and gestured weakly to his chest. “This is fatal. I’m dying, Spock. I’m dying too quickly for you to do anything about it.”

Spock shook his head, and took out his communicator. “No. No, you are not. We can get you back…”

Jim laid his hand over Spock’s. “Don’t. You can’t.” He removed the communicator with his other hand and let it fall to the ground. Spock reached down to meld with him, and felt, not the panic he had been expecting, but calmness, and acceptance. Jim smiled up at him. “Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly…” He trailed off, and the light went out of his eyes.

Spock’s arms went around Jim’s body, and he cradled him to his chest. He whispered, “To be fearful of the night.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm torn between saying I'm sorry and laughing gleefully and going "You didn't see that coming, did you!"


	10. December 10th: IDFK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's NCIS, ship's Tibbs. This chapter comes attached to a simple, three-word message: fuck you, Suri.  
> Oh, and this is the reason it's rated M. It's PWP.

Gibbs backed up against the hallway wall, pulling Tony with him. He pushed the younger man’s t-shirt off and latched onto his collarbone hard enough to leave a mark. “You are wearing way too many clothes,” Tony panted as he tugged fruitlessly at the other man’s hoodie. Gibbs grunted and pushed Tony away slightly to remove both the hoodie and the shirt underneath. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Tony ran his hands down his back, and Gibbs unbuckled his belt with only mildly shaking fingers.

Gibbs gently detached him and pushed him a little further down the hall to the bedroom, only to stop again and slam him against the wall when he lowered his head to tease at Gibbs’ nipples. His head fell forward, over Tony’s, and he pulled him closer. He moaned the other man’s name. Heat coiled low and tight in his gut, and he could feel his grasp on reality slipping away. He tugged on the other man. “Bedroom,” he demanded huskily, reduced to single words.

Tony straightened. “Yeah.”

They pulled each other down the rest of the hallway, never more than an inch between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should it be rated E? I mean it stops just short of any actual frickle-frackle, but it's still pretty explicit. And I couldn't read back overt without losing the inkling of courage that allowed me to post it, considering it's my first real explicit scene, so I apologise if there's spelling or structural mistakes.


	11. December 11th: The True Fair Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Star Trek, ship's Chulu. Because occasionally I remember The Naked Time is a thing that exists, and it warms the cockles of my heart.

Sulu strode into the rec room, brandishing his sabre in front of him. “Do you disrespect me?” he boomed as people scattered wildly to either side. Chekov scuttled hesitantly up to him and started to speak, but stopped abruptly when, instead of trying to attack him, Sulu swung the arm not holding the sabre around him and pulled him to his side. “Ah, Pavel, my love, my heart! Let me feast my eyes upon the beauty that is your features.”

Chekov blushed bright red. “Um, Hikaru…” He could hear someone calling the bridge behind him, but even if they did get here in time to sedate him, the game was up. Lt. Hallwell sidled up and reached for Chekov, apparently under the impression he was in danger.

Sulu pushed Chekov behind him and thrust his sabre straight out. “You dare go after my lover?”

“Derrmo,” Chekov muttered behind him. This was not going well.

Hallwell raised her hands and backed away. “No-one’s going after anyone’s lover.”

At this moment, Jim and Bones both burst through the rec room doors. Sulu swung around and Chekov just barely ducked underneath his sabre. He cursed again. Sulu pulled Chekov in again. “I do apologise, my love, the appearance of these rapscallions surprised me.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at him and Chekov sighed. Bones, meanwhile, was attempting to sidle around to behind him. He was being aided by the other officers in the room, who were gathering around Sulu to obstruct his view. He swung his sabre wildly to the right, and then more carefully to the left where he was holding Chekov. He jerked forward suddenly and fell, letting go of Chekov. He looked up at him with a faint look of reproach, and a small sign of the real Sulu. “He stabbed me in the ass!”

When two security officers who had been on break had a secure hold on the now unconscious helmsman, Jim turned to Chekov with a twinkle in his eye. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”


	12. December 12th: Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Merlin, and it's kind of Merthur but not really. It seems like it might be a lead-in to a longer work, but then again that might never happen, so here you go.

Merlin looked back across the street in shock. That looked like… but he’d stopped hallucinating centuries ago. It couldn’t be. He hesitated for a moment, wary of crossing the street purely to introduce himself to someone who was probably a complete stranger. That had happened a few times now, and it invariably turned out with him looking creepy and the other person awkwardly backing away. Nevertheless, this guy bore more than a passing resemblance to him. He paused a second longer, then hurried across the empty street and tried to chase after him without looking like that was what he was doing.

“Um, hi,” he said when he’d caught him up. The man turned around and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat.

He frowned. “Hi?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you… you look like someone I knew.” He adjusted the strap of his bag and stuck out his hand. “I’m Merlin.”

He grinned and shook hands with him. “As in the wizard? Funny coincidence. I’m Arthur.”

Merlin laughed nervously. “Yeah. My parents were,” he circled a finger next to his ear. “slightly nutty. And fans,” he finished, giving out his stock answer and trying to stop himself from hyperventilating. One part of his mind was screaming _‘It’s him, it’s him, it’s him’_ while the other, sensible part was telling him that it might be him, but it might also be a coincidence, and even if it was, he shouldn’t freak out, or he’d just scare him away. “Where are you headed?” he asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

“I’m actually going to my sister’s, and,” he glanced at his watch. “oh shit, I’m going to be late. I better get going, but I’d like to talk again. Obviously it was fated,” he joked. “What’s your number?”

Merlin visibly calmed his breathing. He swung his bag around and rummaged in it for a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote his mobile number down. “Here,” he said handing it to him. “Call me.”

Arthur stuck it in his pocket and jogged down the street, raising a hand in farewell. “Will do!” he called.

Merlin stared after him in shock and wonder.

 

 

 

 


	13. December 13th: Hunting Babies (Wait, That Came Out Wrong)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Supernatural, and it's, again, kinda Destiel but not really. Cas and Dean have to take care of a small human while Sam hunts a shapeshifter. For Suri, since despite our differences of opinion on Tibbs, she is a friend, and it is her birthday.

Dean stared down at the small child with its arms around his legs. He looked up at Cas again. “Do you know anything about this?” he growled. Cas looked guilty. “Cas…”

“Her parents were killed by the shapeshifter, Dean. She was praying to me.”

“Dammit, Cas, we’re hunters, not a babysitting service! Why have we got her anyway, and not Sam? He’s the one who wanted the two and a half kids. And this is certainly half a kid.”

The former angel shifted uncomfortably. “He’s hunting it.”

Dean threw his hands up, which was closely followed by the young girl, who had been watching this conversation with curiosity, copying his movements. Cas picked her up.

“I go off for half a minute and when I come back Sam’s gone off by himself to hunt a shapeshifter and you’ve managed to pick up a… a stray! Remind me never to leave you alone again.”

Cas shifted the girl to his other hip. “It was more than half a minute, Dean.”

“I was _exaggerating_... oh shit.” The last uttered when the young toddler started crying.

 

Dean ran one hand through his already spiked-up hair, the other bouncing the still-crying child. “Where the _hell_ is Sam?”

“I imagine he is still hunting the creature, Dean.”

“I know, Cas, it was rhetorical – _I see the bad moon arising, I see some trouble on the way_ unless you shut the fuck up – because the kid is driving me up the wall. And don’t pretend you don’t know what that means – _I see hurricanes_ _and lightning_ – you’re perfectly literate in metaphors if you want to be.”

 

Dean bent over the drowsy girl in Cas’s arms. “Go the fuck to sleep, you little shit,” he whispered.

“Dean!” Cas exclaimed quietly in a shocked tone.

He sat down on the couch next to him. “What? She’s too young to know what I’m saying.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

Sam walked through the door of the hotel room and threw the keys down, to be met with the sight of Dean sitting on the couch with Cas curled into a ball next to him and the young girl on his chest, all three of them sound asleep. He smiled and reached behind him to turn the light off.

 

 

 


	14. December 14th: Storytime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Star Trek, and Spirk is talked about. Uncle Bones is up for babysitting duty for T'paal, their daughter. Because family Star Trek is the best Star Trek.

T’paal ran into McCoy’s office, waving her chubby arms above her head. “Uncle Bones! Uncle Bones!”

Bones obediently turned away from the paperwork on his PADD and hoisted her onto the table in front of him. “Hey, T’paal. Am I on babysitting duty again?”

“Yes, Dad and Sa-mekh are on doo - duty.”

“I am too, you know. But it’s always a pleasure to have you around, sweet-cheeks.”

“My cheeks aren’t sweet, Uncle Bones,” she laughed.

He grinned at her. “Of course they are. Your cheeks are like lollipops.”

“They don’t _look_ like loolipops.”

“But things are not always what they seem, are they, T’paal?”

“M’cheeks are.”

“You’re picking up bad habits from your Uncle Scotty. But if you say so. What do you want to do today?”

She bounced a little on the table. “Story!”

“Okay. What story?”

“Dad and Sa-mekh.”

“You may have to narrow it down a bit, peach. I’ve got a lot of stories about those two. Should I tell you about when they first found out they were getting you?”

She thought for a moment. “Yes. I’m not a peach either.”

“I know, I know. Your uncle’s illogical. Okay, here goes. Well, they’d applied to adopt a child about a month before, and they weren’t expecting to get a reply for a while yet, but they were both on the edges of their seats about it anyway. I mean, it was less obvious in your Sa-mekh, but even there it was pretty clear. So, in the middle of the night, Jim hears the beep from the monitor that signals an urgent message. He gets up, trying not to disturb Spock, thinking it’s orders to change course, or something like that. He tiptoes over to the monitor, and reads the message, which, it turns out, is saying that their application for adoption has been accepted, and they should pick up their new tiny hobgoblin – you – from Vulcan at the nearest possible time. Well, Jim let out a squeal that probably could have been heard in the next galaxy over if their quarters weren’t so effectively soundproofed, waking Spock up. Now the next bit I’ve only heard an edited version of, probably because your Sa-mekh squealed like a hamster as well, and he obviously couldn’t have had _that_ spread around the ship, but Jim did tell me he almost grinned. Which is a big deal for him. But don’t tell him I know that. The next day Jim made a ship-wide announcement about you, and let me tell you, not much work got done that day. Everyone was too happy. Your Uncle Scotty started drawing up plans to add a nursery to their quarters, Uncle Hik started figuring out how to make the replicators produce tiny blunt sabres, and which plants would be good to have in your nursery, Aunty Nyota began researching Vulcan lullabies, and the entire ship was in a state of excitement for the rest of the week, really.”

She smiled at him. “And then they picked me up from Vulcan,” she finished.

“Exactly. Now I really should do this paperwork. Want to help me?

“Yes!”

“Ah, the enthusiasm of youth.”


	15. December 15th: Christmas In Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Merlin, and the ship's Merthur. I have no idea if the mistletoe tradition was actually around in Arthurian times, and I have limited internet, so I can't research it, so I apologise if I'm being historically inaccurate. But then, you know, Merlin did it enough times.

Merlin trod wearily up the stairs to his and Gaius’s rooms. He walked in the door and groaned. “Not you too, Gaius!”

Gaius looked up from his herbs. “You are quite correct, Merlin, not I. The one with the sudden urge for Christmas decorating was His Majesty here.”

Merlin looked to the corner and squinted suspiciously. “Arthur.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, Merlin, I’m here in my capacity as lover, not master. You look exhausted.”

Merlin collapsed next to him on the cot. “No kidding. And you didn’t help with that.”

“It wasn’t entirely my fault. I’m not even the person most at fault.”

“True. That would be Gwaine.”

“The man does have rather a lot of Christmas spirit.”

Merlin snorted. “That’s putting it mildly! And you. Why did you decorate Gaius’s chambers? I was looking forward to coming back to somewhere not strewn with decorations, but no. No, my boyfriend, the King, apparently saw fit to throw them haphazardly around the room!” His voice had gradually grown louder, and at this point Gaius winced and spoke up. “Do keep it down, my dear boy. Some of us are trying to work.”

Merlin turned on him. “And some of us have been working all day!”

Gaius raised a calm eyebrow at him, and he quieted. “Sorry, Gaius.”

He nodded at him. “It’s alright, Merlin. And as for our king here, I believe he had an ulterior motive to the decorating.” He pointed above their heads.

Merlin looked up, and then sarcastically at Arthur. He grinned sheepishly. “Cheesy, I know. But I do believe it’s a tradition?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Oh, come here.”

Arthur smiled. “If you insist.” He put a hand behind Merlin’s head and went in for a slow, warm kiss. After a minute Merlin drew back and smiled at him. “I can’t stay mad at you.” He rested his head on his shoulder. “Love you.”

“I love you.”

 

 

 


	16. December 16th: Boxing Day Hangovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Torchwood, ship's Janto, and it does exactly what it says on the box.

Ianto staggered out to his kitchen bench, rubbing his head. “What the fuck did we do last night?”

“Something Christmassy,” Jack grinned, sliding a cup of black coffee and two pills across the bench to Ianto. “They’re just painkillers, I promise.”

He glared at him and raised the cup to his lips. “You know, sometimes the fact that you don’t get hangovers can be really annoying,” he mumbled against the rim.

“Hey, I made you coffee. I wouldn’t have been able to do that with a hangover.”

“Yes, well, occasionally it has its upsides.”

There was minute of silence as Ianto sipped and Jack watched him. Ianto looked up when he finished. “Go sit down. Did you make yourself coffee?”

“No. Frankly I was a little terrified of operating it all, but I figured you’d probably murder me if you didn’t immediately have coffee, and I didn’t feel like dying right now. It’s not a great feeling.”

“Alright, I’ll make you some.” He moved over to the couch and Ianto moved to the coffee machine. A minute later, Ianto moved to the couch with two cups of coffee, handed one to Jack and lay down with his head in Jack’s lap.

“Seriously, what did we do last night?”

“I think we ingested a heroic amount of eggnog. Gwen did too, she’s probably terrorizing Rhys right now.”

Ianto groaned. “I’m never doing that again. What about Tosh and Owen?”

Jack looked thoughtful. “I don’t actually know, they disappeared half an hour in.”

“Well, I hope wherever they went, they feel better than I do.”

Jack patted his head. “Poor Ianto.”

He rolled it from side to side. “Oh, don’t be patronising. Those pills helped, though. What was in them? Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay. I’m not going to stare a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Not so much a gift _horse_ as a gift shark-dragon-tiger cross…”

Ianto put his hands over his ears. “Oh, stop talking!” he laughed.

 

 

 

 


	17. December 17th: What Tosh And Owen Were Doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Torchwood, there's mild Tosh/Owen. From the throwaway comment of Jack's yesterday (or tomorrow, in the fics).

Tosh stood awkwardly next to the food table and sipped her drink. She hadn’t really wanted to come to this party, but Gwen had convinced her too, and at least Owen was here too. So were the other three, plus Rhys, but Jack and Ianto were across the room participating in what looked like a drinking game with eggnog, holding onto each other and giggling, and Gwen was in the middle of the dance floor, having dragged Rhys out. She looked around the room again, searching for Owen.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Tosh jumped, turned around, and relaxed. “Oh, it’s you. I was just looking for you.”

He smirked. “Good to know. You don’t seem to be enjoying the party tremendously.”

“I’m not. You know I don’t like parties.” She raised her glass to her lips and sighed.

“I know, so why did you come?”

She sighed again. “I don’t know. All the others were coming, and then Gwen said I should come, and I didn’t have anything else to do, and it just… happened.”

Owen pushed himself off the table and held out a hand. “Well, do you want it to un-happen?”

Tosh narrowed her eyes at him. “If you’ve stolen time travel equipment, Owen Harper…”

He laughed. “I just mean, do you want to leave, Toshiko Sato.”

She smiled. “Sorry. Yes, I would like to leave. But I should say goodbye…” She trailed off, looking at the crowds of people between them and the other members of the team.

He took her hand. “You don’t have to. You’ll see them all in two days anyway.”

She nodded and followed him out the front door. She inhaled the relatively fresh air deeply and leant against the wall of the building. “Wait. Two days?”

“Did you see the boss and the teaboy? Jack may not get hangovers, but Ianto sure does, and Jack’ll stay home to ‘help’ him. Neither of them will be in tomorrow, and Gwen probably won’t be either.”

Tosh laughed quietly. “The way she was dancing, she’ll probably have a hangover too.”

Owen grinned. “Yeah, so we get to stay home. Do you want to go somewhere now, or just home?”

“Just home, I think.”

They walked away, linked hands swinging between them.

 


	18. December 18th: Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's NCIS, ship's Tibbs. Because we all know Tony secretly loves Taylor Swift.

Gibbs paused midway down the stairs and frowned. There was… noise emanating from the downstairs area of his house. He groaned and finished walking down and into the kitchen. This was what came of having partners. You’d think he’d have learnt by now. He stopped at the exit to the living room to see Tony dancing around the kitchen, and smiled despite himself.

“ _’Cause darling, I’m a nightmare dressed like a day-_ ” He turned around, saw Gibbs, and stopped singing abruptly. He touched something on his phone and the music stopped. “Sorry, boss.”

Gibbs waved a hand in the air. “Just tell me you’ve got coffee.”

He grabbed a coffeepot that Gibbs was sure he hadn’t owned off the stove and a mug out of the cupboard and poured. “Yep. I’m making breakfast too, if you want it. Omelettes.”

He raised the cup to his mouth and made an affirmative grunt. “Thanks.”

Tony grabbed the bowl behind him and went back to vigorously beating eggs. “This is not the same without music,” he commented.

“Put it back on, then.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

“Not your boss here, Tony.”

“Well, yeah, but still, I don’t want you murdering me or anything.”

“I’m not going to kill you for putting your music on.”

“Promise?”

Gibbs looked at him.

“Yeah, okay.” He stood up and touched his phone again.

“ _So it’s gonna be forever or it’s gonna go down in flames. You can tell me when it’s over if the high was worth the pain.”_

Gibbs winced. “Maybe not this one?”

“Yeah, I see your point.” He skipped, and started bouncing. “ _It might seem crazy what I’m ‘bout to say, sunshine she’s here, you can take a break.”_

Gibbs nodded into his coffee. “That’s better.”

Tony nodded, slightly disguised by the bouncing he was doing as he poured the egg mixture into the pan and slid the spatula underneath.

Gibbs smiled at him and sat back.

 


	19. December 19th: Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Cabin Pressure, there's no ships. Also no plot.

Martin felt something land on top of his hat. He jerked his hand up to get it off and felt… a bauble? He looked over his shoulder. “Arthur. What are you doing?”

“I’m decorating you, Skip! After all, it’s almost Christmas, and you don’t look at all festive.”

“It’s the 19th of December, Arthur! And Douglas doesn’t look ‘festive’ either, why aren’t you decorating him?”

“Well, I don’t expect him to be festive. I mean, it’s Douglas. He’s not as…”

“Silly?” Martin suggested depressedly.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Thankyou, Arthur,” Douglas chipped in. “But I really don’t think anyone could climb to the heights of silliness that our good captain achieves. Even if you do make a jolly good crack at it.”

“Oh, thanks, Douglas.”

“I mean, just his hat contains more silliness than most of us.”

“I didn’t _ask_ for extra gold braid!”

“Yes, we all know the story of the hat, Martin. But to go back to our original topic, it is a little early for Christmas decorating, Arthur.”

“No it isn’t! Me and Mum’s house is fully decorated.”

“Caroline acquiesced to have her house decorated two weeks before Christmas?” Martin asked incredulously.

“Caroline acquiesces to have her house decorated at all?” Douglas added.

“Well, I don’t think she’s that happy about it, but she lets me. Just not her bedroom.”

“I suppose you are a bit of an irresistible force when it comes to Christmas. As unlikely as it sounds, you did learn a few lessons from your mother.”

“Yeah, I figured that out in Kuala Lumpur.”

“We’ve never flown to Kuala Lumpur…”

“Of course you realised that immediately. He’s right though, and we didn’t before he came in either. Have you and Caroline taken a trip we weren’t aware of?”

“Oh no, it was the mystery passengers. We went to Kuala Lumpur.”

Douglas and Martin looked at each other, and Douglas shrugged.

“We should decorate Gerti again!”

Martin sighed.


	20. December 20th: Rule 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's NCIS, ship's Tibbs. Sorry, this one's a bit short, but I couldn't bring it up to 300 words without adding the night before, which I didn't want to do. I did realise though, if you ignore Happy, the Tibbs scenes could be seen as happening in order. Confession, then IDFK, then this. Which was completely unintentional.

Gibbs woke up slowly and turned over. Wait a second, he was in a bed. His bed. And the other side of it was warm. Oh. Tony. He closed his eyes. Tony had happened. And Tony was no longer in bed. Nor could he hear him in the house. But the bed was warm, meaning he’d only just left. That was probably what had woken Gibbs up. This wasn’t good. Damn. What had gone wrong? After stressing for about two minutes, he opened his eyes again and noticed what he’d missed the first time, a small piece of white paper on the other pillow. A note. Tony had left a note. Well, that was reassuring. Without further ado, he opened it and chuckled. Tony knew him too well. It read:

 

Having insecurities, boss?

 

Don’t worry, I just went home to pick up clothes. Figuring I’m staying the weekend?

 

Rule 5.

 

And we are good.

 

Gibbs lay back down, the note clutched loosely in his right hand. You don’t waste good. Damn right.

 


	21. December 21st: Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Torchwood, ship's Janto. Inspired by the all-too-short time in Fragments when we see Ianto in normal clothes.

Ianto stepped out from Jack’s office, looking greatly uncomfortable. Jack grinned and wolf-whistled. “Damn, Ianto. I forgot what you looked like in normal clothes. I mean, the suits are good, don’t get me wrong, and obviously no clothes is always better,”

Owen winced. “I didn’t need to hear that,” he muttered.

“But-” Jack whistled again, more of an exhale this time.

Ianto made his way down the stairs, shaking himself out. “Why am I the one going undercover, in Splott, for heaven’s sakes?” Then in an undertone, “It’s been years since I wore jeans.”

Jack extended a hand when he reached the end of staircase, and kissed him. “Obviously so I could get to see you like this.”

Ianto bowed. “Glad to be of service, sir. Were jeans always this tight?”

Jack held him at arm’s length and considered the question. “This may be a particularly tight pair,” he finally decided. “But then, the ones you used to wear were pretty tight as well.”

Gwen came forward and grabbed Ianto’s arm. “Much as I hate to interrupt this moment, we need to brief Ianto.” She took him to where Tosh was standing in front of her computers.

Tosh handed him a pair of contact lenses and an earbud, both of which he obediently slipped in.

“So, we think this guy is collecting possibly dangerous alien artifacts and selling them to the highest bidder. Your job is to find out where he’s getting them from, as well as as much other information you can get to us. You’ll be going in posing as a native Splott-ian looking for a job so you can save up enough money to get out of Splott, and you thought this guy might have a job that would pay better than the other possibilities. At some point, Jack will be coming in pretending to be a possible buyer. Obviously, avoid excessive contact with each other. You remember how the contact lens works?”

Ianto nodded.

“Okay, I think you’re ready then.”

He nodded again and took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go.” He walked towards the door, only to be stopped by Jack halfway there. He kissed him.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He walked out the door.

 


	22. December 22nd: Bickering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Next Gen, ship's Rikard (? Is that the ship name? I don't see enough of it). Why does all my writing dissolve into dialogue-only?This is an important question.

Riker ran his hands lightly down Jean-Luc’s torso. “You have too many scars.”

Jean-Luc turned on his side to look at him. “So do you, but I don’t complain.”

Riker frowned at him. “It worries me.”

He rolled back onto his back. “You, my dear Number One, are over-protective. Obviously none of the incidents that caused these scars were fatal, or even particularly troublesome-”

“You almost got permanently assimilated into the Borg!”

“And thus there is no need for you to worry,” he continued smoothly.

“That’s definitely going to stop me. I can feel the worry leeching out of me right this very moment.”

“Oh, don’t be so sarcastic. You really shouldn’t worry so much. It’s not good for you, as I’m sure Beverly would tell you.”

“Beverly worries about you too. We get together and have worry sessions whenever you go on an away mission without us.”

“That does not mean she doesn’t know it’s unhealthy.”

“True. She has told me that. You win this time.”

“I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I win every time.”

“Shut up.”

“I also have a partner and first officer who is excellent at comebacks.”

“And you told me not to be sarcastic. Hypocrite.”

“That was slightly hypocritical, I admit. However, when you do sarcasm you just sound bitter. I sound sarcastic.”

“And yet you could tell it was sarcasm.”

“It’s the only situation where you sound bitter.”

“Ooohh.” Riker groaned and rolled over to bury his face in Jean-Luc’s chest. “You can be incredibly irritating, you know that?”

He looked down at the top of his head. “The feeling is mutual.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

 


	23. December 23rd: Suspicion (Titles Are Hard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Show's NCIS, ship's Tibbs. Could continue the pseudo-series that's been happening with Tibbs.

“Something’s going on with the boss and Tony.” There was a pause. “Ellie?”

She looked up. “Hmm? Oh, sorry, did you say something to me?”

“Yeah, something’s going on with Tony and Gibbs.”

“Is there?”

McGee pointed to where they were standing just past the lift with his chin. Ellie turned around. They both just looked for a minute.

“Gibbs is smiling!”

“He is.”

“And that’s Tony’s flirting pose.”

“It is.”

Abby bounced into the bullpen. “Hey, guys, ask Abby! Where are Gibbs and Tony?”

Ellie and McGee both pointed at the same time.

“Oh, right. I thought they were trying to be discreet. That’s not working out.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “Oh no, I can’t tell you. Anyway, like I was saying, ask Abby!”

“What are we asking Abby?” McGee questioned. “Apart from what the hell’s going on with those two.”

“You are asking Abby what evidence she has found, and I will tell you. I got a match on the DNA. It belongs to Gertrude Grant. She was dishonourably discharged two years ago and tried for armed assault. She was let off in the end, but it was suspicious.”

“And now her DNA’s under a dead guy’s fingernails. I’d call that suspicious.”

“Hi Gibbs!” She looked at Tony, who looked quite flustered, and McGee, who looked like he was gearing up for a confrontation, and pointed over her right shoulder with both hands. “I’m… just going to go back to my lab. See you later.”

Ellie returned to her laptop, but McGee stared at Tony until Gibbs interrupted. “What do you got?”

They both stood up and moved to stand in front of the screen.

 

 


	24. December 24th: Let It Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom's Star Trek, ship's Spirk. Since we started off with a fluffy Star Trek one, let's finish with a fluffy Star Trek one.

Jim staggered in out of the fat flakes of snow that were falling on him and into the cosy, warmly lit holiday home. T’paal ran up to him and threw her arms around his waist. “Daddy! It’s Christmas Eve, and it’s snowing!”

He mock-staggered, and set the numerous heavy bags he was carrying down to pick her up. “That was the point of staying here for Christmas, sweetie.”

Spock walked sedately in from the kitchen. “But we could not guarantee it would, in fact, snow.”

Jim grinned and set T’paal down to spread his arms. “Of course it snowed, it’s Christmas!”

“That is hardly a guarantee of snow, Jim.”

“Of course it is. At least, it is if we’re on holiday on Earth.”

“That _is_ illogical, Dad.”

“I know. I don’t care.”

Spock picked up the bags and turned to walk into the kitchen.

“Come on, let’s go with your Sa-mekh.” He picked her up and followed him. He whispered to her. “We’re going to show him the true spirit of Christmas.”

“How can an abstract concept have a spirit?”

“Oh, you are so your Sa-mekh’s child. I see I’m on my own here. How do you even know the phrase ‘abstract concept’?”

“I’m Vulcan. We mature faster.”

“Of course.”

Spock started unpacking the bags. “Jim, you do realise there are only 3 of us?” He brought out a whole turkey and stared at it. “Also, two of us are vegetarian.”

“I’m going to take the leftovers to Mum and Dad.”

“Are we going to see Grandma and Pop?” T’paal asked excitedly.

“Yeah, the day after tomorrow.”

“Yay!”

Jim looked at her adoringly. “See, first you ask how an abstract concept can have a spirit, and then you get really excited. I can’t predict you.”

“That is your influence, t’hy’la.”

Jim grinned. “Aw.” He leant over T’paal to kiss him.

 

 

 


End file.
